Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Paint the town

I'm tired and frustrated. Quitting my job and moving, running away really, isn't the solution, but I'm sore for something new lately. I want something that feels safer, more manageable, with greater potential. I think I need to get out of this small town and into a bigger city with more opportunities for myself and for my family.

I want to go to Chicago.

Ben and Brian are back from Dresden. Sue has recovered from her kidney transplant. Flea is there. Old pals from college are there, living in glorious queerness at Roscoe and Halsted.

I'm angry with my pastor for deserting us, and now I realize that he was one of the main reasons that I stuck with my church. My first church. The church where I had my first communion. But I could leave. I could be happy at Holy Trinity. Holy Trinity could make me sing again.

I want to live in a place where Brooke and I can be the legal parents of the children we want to raise and both be allowed to provide them and one another with health and dental insurance. I want to raise children. I want to have a baby.

Chicago is near enough to Dad, Paul, Hope, and Hannah (and Brock, my T = (minus)1.5 months nephew) that a weekend trip is not unbearable. With the exception of my brief time in Grosse Pointe Park, I'll live closer to one of the Great Lakes than I ever have before.

But I just refinanced the house. We haven't even closed on that yet, and it will take us 18 months to break even on this refi. It hasn't stopped me from house hunting. I found a lovely place in Irving Park for which I'd give my eye teeth plus the asking price. I have this longing to go home, but I guess I don't know where that is right now.


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